


Chop Suey

by Marzi



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannabalism, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Series, Stalking, blink and you'll miss it reference to hannigram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 05:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18654040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzi/pseuds/Marzi
Summary: More often than not, he removed himself from the duty of juror. His job allowed him that. There were weeks though, where Hannibal had the time and inclination to spend it in Caprica City's courts. Pulling apart the minds of those on the stand was an amusing distraction, swaying opinions on verdicts was an entertaining pastime; and the courthouse was a great deal closer to the River Walk Market than his home and office. During the trial he had a good amount of time to browse its stalls without going out of his way. He could have gone for a more compelling case, despite the convenience to his shopping list.No matter the body count, a drunk driver crashing into another car just wasn't interesting.





	Chop Suey

**Author's Note:**

> Digging through more old fanfic folders and stumbled on to this. Kinda rambly, but I enjoyed re-reading it so I figured I'd post it.

More often than not, he removed himself from the duty of juror. His job allowed him that. There were weeks though, where Hannibal had the time and inclination to spend it in Caprica City's courts. Pulling apart the minds of those on the stand was an amusing distraction, swaying opinions on verdicts was an entertaining pastime; and the courthouse was a great deal closer to the River Walk Market than his home and office. During the trial he had a good amount of time to browse its stalls without going out of his way. He could have gone for a more compelling case, despite the convenience to his shopping list.

 

No matter the body count, a drunk driver crashing into another car just wasn't interesting.

 

What was interesting was finding the surviving member of the family among the stalls of the market. He let her drift by the first time it happened. By the third day he caught sight of her, he knew her route and followed from a safe distance. She knew the stalls well, and he was pleased with the selections he had from the vendors she led him too. Her journey through the River Walk always ended in the same spot. After taking a roll of utensils from a food cart, she would sit under a fountain and chop up her fresh vegetables and choice cheeses for a salad. She would dangle her feet in the water while she ate, and Hannibal would watch from across the park, his groceries still tucked in their bags.

 

Her routine never changed, even when the case fell away from her prosecutor's initial try at pinning second degree murder. If they had been anywhere but Caprica, it might have worked. Not to mention the defendant had no priors and a better lawyer. While they didn't manage to wrangle involuntary manslaughter, they got the minimum sentencing of five years and one day for negligent homicide. His family cried and hugged him.

 

Laura Roslin shook her lawyer's hand and left.

 

Hannibal didn't see her at the River Walk the next day.

 

He found out where she lived a week later.

 

* * *

 

 

It was two months after the case when he saw her again, at a concert in the park.

 

Hannibal typically avoided outdoor events. The wind did nothing for the sound and the temperature would wreak havoc on the instruments. He avoided non-acoustic events altogether. The quartet happened to be doing a collection from composers he enjoyed, and he had a day with no patients.

 

She bumped into him while carrying a paper cup of wine. She didn't spill, but muttered an apology for the contact. He said it was nothing and watched her move across the grass to a blanket.

 

As far as his research had told him, she hadn't sold her condominium. From the case he knew that her home was the last place her family had been before they died. He had given her a week to sell it after the trial because of the painful reminder, before he concluded she was keeping it out of sentiment.

 

* * *

 

 

He spotted her during one of his trips to the River Walk. He followed her, watching as she picked through everything on the vendors tables before moving on. She rarely bought anything, seeming disinterested in everything that was offered. She didn't take a break by the fountain, but walked by with a resoluteness that meant she was deliberately ignoring it. It took her the better part of the afternoon, but she finally finished with an armload of groceries.

 

Hannibal put his own purchases in his car and followed her back to her place while the sun set. He drove through the neighborhood after seeing her get home, coming back to her street after dark and parking across from the stairs that led to her door. Another car pulled up not long after, and a young man got out. He held a bouquet of flowers and smoothed down his jacket before going up to her door.

 

He blocked any view Hannibal would have had of her when she opened the door. He caught a flash of silver fabric when it closed behind him.

 

It was only two hours before the young man exited the condo. His clothes were disheveled and he hesitated several times heading out into the street. He looked over his shoulder before shaking his head, and after that had no more pauses before making it to his car.

 

After the headlights had vanished down the road, Hannibal started his own engine and went home.

 

* * *

 

 

He saw her in the background of press photos in Adar's campaign for President.

 

Her hair was dark and her face was pale.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn't difficult to find the Adar campaign headquarters. It was a tedious matter of tracking her down, though. With so many volunteers working there, not a lot of people he could casually approach recognized the name. After several days, he finally found out where she liked to take her lunch break.

 

On the days his schedule allowed him time to make it to that part of the city, he started taking his lunch there as well.

 

Her food tended to disappear under piles of papers and folders. Most of the time, at the end of the half hour, she would wrap up whatever she bought and stuff it in her purse. She was starting to look a little thin. At the end of the week, instead of ordering food, she would stand outside and smoke.

 

He adjusted his time table and arrived twenty minutes earlier, walking up to the cafe just as she was lighting her cigarette.

 

His hand hovered a moment at the door before he turned towards her.

 

“Pardon me, but do you have one of those to spare?”

 

He brought her a small, homemade lunch as a thank you the next week. She insisted on repaying in kind.

 

* * *

 

 

Plants overtook most of the shelf space, mostly hardy, low maintenance, from a succulent variety. Nothing that needed frequent watering. He couldn't spot any photos. There was a rectangle of discolored wall above her couch, where a frame had to have covered until recently. It seemed too large to have been a portrait.

 

Her furniture was expensive, well maintained, and not new.

 

“I didn't mean to pull you out of your way.”

 

Her intention on cooking him something in return for his meal had been postponed for several weeks. Her work schedule kept her on her toes. He had only managed to get this far by striking up a conversation with her on the sidewalk before they could sit down at the cafe. Her feet had carried her home.

 

“A good meal is never out of the way.”

 

“I hope this counts as a good meal, I don't keep much stoked at home anymore.”

 

She made a red pepper risotto with cream, and a pan seared chicken, sided with flat bread. She cooked from memory and apologized for her choice in dish. It was all she had at the condo and she needed to clean out the cupboards.

 

* * *

 

 

“You're so good about what you put in your body.” Laura popped another grape into her mouth. “I wish I had as much time to go to the right markets. At the end of the week, I end up at whatever is still open when I'm hungry.”

 

“A habit which I hope I can help break. Here.” He offered one of the onions he was sauteing and she ate it right off the fork. He set it to the side, returning to the spatula he was using.

 

“Mmh. Even the butter you have tastes better.”

 

Considering her culinary experience, Hannibal had managed to schedule several more meals with Laura. They were up to at least a once a month get together, alternated between their homes. Between those visits, he sometimes brought her a salad when she was working. Her color was starting to come back, and she didn't look quite so thin.

 

“I think your hunger is impairing your judgment.”

 

“No, your butter is definitely better. You don't make that on your own too, do you?”

 

“Not usually.”

 

She laughed. It was the first time he heard that sound from her.

 

* * *

 

 

“You're hiding something.”

 

Whenever she looked at him, the corner of her lip tended to turn up in a smile. It appeared, but a grimace overtook it. “Not hiding. I'm just trying to keep it from being exposed to the world. It's on its way to the trash.”

 

Hannibal brushed his fingers over the edge of the canvas. The rectangle above the couch had been covered some time ago, but this could have easily filled the space.

 

“Trying to forget something of bad taste?”

 

“Trying to understand why I ever hung it up in the first place. I suppose it just survived longer than the others.”

 

He pulled it away from the wall, catching a glimpse of charcoal lines. “I'll have to show you my sketchbook, maybe we can compare failures.”

 

“I'm starting to wonder if there's anything you don't do.”

 

“I could ask the same of you.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It was an excellent performance.”

 

“It was.”

 

As Secretary of Education, Laura had access to a wide variety of events. Not to mention decent seating.

 

“I'm surprised you think so, your eyes were on me for most of it.”

 

“I've never seen you so openly enjoy something before. It was a great treat.”

 

Most of their shared meals had become quiet affairs, where they simply cooked and sat in each other's company. She had become more and more interested in just observing him. There was no blatant, undignified prodding from her, so he didn't mind her watching.

 

* * *

 

 

“You've met someone.”

 

“What?”

 

“You're smiling like you've met someone. Or have you just had a particularly good day?”

 

“I've met several people today, as I was asked to consult on a criminal case.”

 

“Oh. For who? The police?”

 

“The Inter-Colonial Bureau of Investigation.”

 

“Gods. That must be quite the case.”

 

“It's certainly gotten the authorities attention.”

 

“I'll say. And don't think I didn't notice you ignoring my question. Keep your crushes to yourself, then.”

 

Hannibal smiled into his wineglass.

 

* * *

 

 

It could have only been weeks, but she had been losing track of time lately. Laura didn't want to look at a calendar and suddenly be faced with the fact it had been months since she had last seen Hannibal. She sent a bottle of wine before she went to see him, hopefully he would accept the olive branch.

 

Ignoring him had hardly been a polite thing to do, and trying to ignore it would only make the matter worse. She had to apologize-- wanted to apologize, for suddenly dropping out of contact with him. What she would not apologize for was why she did it.

 

When he answered the door they just stared at each other. He stepped back without a word and she crossed the threshold.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes he imagined what sex with her would be like.

 

He would seek out the illness that he could smell under her skin. Use his teeth like he used a knife to cut away imperfections when he cooked. She was frightened of her sickness, she would not mind the aggression he would use against her. She would encourage him, want it driven out.

 

The hands that took such care in the kitchen would explore him, and she would not leave a part of him undiscovered. He thought about her fingers just behind his ear and down his neck. Her hand, trailing across the sensitive skin on the front of his hip. She would not wait for him to give her pleasure, so he would have to put his hands to her quickly, not let her believe for a moment he would leave her wanting. She was not one to hold people, but he imagined himself resting between her thighs, head against her breast. He would be cold enough not to burn her with humanity. She would not sleep, but she would not drive him out of bed either.

 

Some nights when they found themselves in each others company, when she was unkempt and exhausted and through with putting on a face for the world, he thought she might pull him to her bedroom. He could see her nipples through her shirt and she looked at him in a way that he knew she thought about fucking him too. She never seemed interested in following through on those thoughts.

 

He never did.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sometimes I think about quitting. Opening a restaurant. Give people food, do something that actually matters. Maybe not in the long run, but they'd appreciate it.”

 

“What you do does matter Laura. You just hate doing it.”

 

She stabbed at her meal with her fork. Normally she ate with her hands. No matter how much they discussed the preparation of food, he could never get her to quite agree with presentation and etiquette for consumption. The food was meant to be enjoyed after she was done with it, and whatever show normally put on for eating was left behind so she could just enjoy it. She had put too many rules and masks into her life. When she was eating, she didn't want to deal with them anymore.

 

“How did you do it?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Find something you love.”

 

* * *

 

 

“They let him out today. I didn't.. check, but.. today is the day his sentence ends.” She did not check. Her mind had committed the date to memory, but she had no other interest in following up on the man. “I didn't think I would remember. I never really thought about it much.”

 

“It's not unusual that you do remember this day.”

 

“I suppose.”

 

Hannibal waited. Her breathing was even on the phone. She wasn't crying, or even close to.

 

“Do you want me to come over?”

 

“No.”

 

If she had wanted to see him she would have come over. She would have called to ask if he was available, not told him what was on her mind.

 

“Will you be alright?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Of course she would.

 

“It's... Today is the day he gets let out. Sorry if you were in the middle of something, didn't mean to bother you.”

 

“Not at all. I'm glad you told me.”

 

“Thank you for listening.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Even if you do not talk, it's good to have company.”

 

Laura watched him cook from across the counter. Chop suey. It was unusual to see him cook something so simple, so difficult to perfectly present on a plate in a proper pattern.

 

Maybe Hannibal was letting his hair down for once. She did appreciate the looseness of this meeting, the fact he was dressed down to a shirt and jacket and not in his full suit. That he had simply asked if she was hungry and started cooking without her having to do anything other than nod, was pleasant.

 

It was good, having someone in the house with her on this day. She hadn't thought it would be different than the last four anniversaries.

 

The small part of her mind that had counted down the days until his release proved her wrong.

 

The sounds of butchers paper from the package Hannibal had brought with him drew her out of her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 

“Would you be willing to stand as a witness at his trial?”

 

“No.” Laura's hands tightened on her knees. “I don't want to go to court.”

 

“Alright. You probably won't be necessary for the prosecution, but if anyone calls--”

 

“I won't go to court.” Not after the man who had killed her family had so easily walked away.

 

“Very well. If reporters contact you--”

 

“I'll hang up. Is there anything else?”

 

A look passed between the two agents, part surprise, part who cares. “No ma'am. Call us if you change your mind.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Laura saw them out of the house, hardly feeling it as they shook hands and parted ways. The click of the closing door wasn't enough, and she twisted the deadbolt into place. A serial killer had wandered through her home. Had shared meals with her. Had openly and pleasantly spoken to her. Had been her gods damned friend.

 

Her feet carried her into the kitchen before she could think it through. The cool air from the fridge made gooseflesh spread across her skin. She rifled through the boxes until she found the neat ceramic container. He always had such nice things for his food. She slid it from its place next to the sauteed vegetables and turned from the fridge, closing it with her foot. Laura grabbed a fork from the drawer and moved towards the dining table.

 

She set it down and frowned at the sight it made. After laying the fork next to it she went looking for a place mat and a napkin. Presentation was part of the meal.

 

The place mat was bamboo and didn't match the pattern on the napkin she found, but it was more effort than she normally put into her solitary meals. She took her chair and made sure the fork was resting straight on the napkin before opening the container. The plastic lip popped off easily, and beads of condensation rolled across it. She laid it to the right of the container and then picked up her fork. It hovered a moment over the mix before moving down and spearing a strip of meat.

 

Laura brought it up and studied the browned skin, the oils and sauces dripping from the end. An ethical butcher. The bodies laid out across Caprica hadn't been humanely put down. News reports had let slip that certain victims were still alive while they had been mutilated. What had been ethical in their deaths? How had he picked his targets? He couldn't have spent all his time at court, looking for men like the one who killed her family.

 

She put the fork in her mouth, teeth catching the meat. and closed her eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I guess the mental image of Laura getting to eat the guy that killed her family really appealed to me? Honestly, I don't remember when I wrote this, or if it was ever supposed to go anywhere else.


End file.
